


The Sum

by AdaMarina



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Depressed Donald, Major angst warning, Mentions of favouritism behavior, Mostly from Donald's perspective so most of this is his interpretation, unhappy ending?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 12:34:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12631182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdaMarina/pseuds/AdaMarina
Summary: Sometimes people don’t realize how their actions add up. Donald, on the other hand, is all too aware.





	The Sum

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive me, I just kind of word-vomited on the page and didn't really do any editing.
> 
> I have so many goddamned feelings about DT17 comic #2. I loved Della but I couldn’t stand how she and Scrooge treated Donald. So I’m writing a oneshot about it. It’s a bit different from my usual format, as it’s a collection of “moments” basically that lead up to the end...
> 
> A line break means it's a different event, while oOoOo means it's the same event but a different perspective.

Donald was only eight when he finally noticed his Uncle Scrooge seemed to treat Della differently.

It was barely noticeable, of course- gifts were of equal, and typically little, value, they were both treated well in his house, and they were both expected to do chores when they were there, under strict observation by Mrs. Beakley of course. They both had to finish their homework before being allowed to explore and both had to be in bed by nine o’clock, sharp. There were no excuses, save for illness or injury.

No, it wasn’t necessarily in the expectations he had in them or how he obviously treated them.

It was in the way he spoke to them.

The more time that passed, the more obvious it became to Donald.

Della was confident and reckless, throwing herself headfirst into everything, often not thinking about the consequences. Donald? Well, he was more cautious, always there to protect her from actually getting hurt and trying to be the voice of reason.

He often went ignored.

 _“It’s fine, Donnie,”_ she’d say before jumping up onto the banister.

Donald raced to the bottom in time to catch her when she went flying head-first towards the ground.

 _“It’s totally safe!”_ she’d say from the high branches of the old oak tree, climbing ever higher.

Donald would be there when the branch broke and catch her before she hit the ground.

That was their dynamic; Della would rush into something and Donald would be there to catch her if she fell, to jump in and protect her when something collapsed on her, to watch for any sign of danger. It just became their normal.

Scrooge seemed to take more interest in Della’s habit to _do_ than Donald’s habit to _guard._ Sure, when Donald managed to stop someone- usually Della- from getting hurt, sometimes at his own expense, he’d get a pat on the back from Scrooge and an occasional _“thanks”_ from who he saved, but for the most part Scrooge’s eyes were on Della, encouraging her and praising her. Smiling and saying her name with pride.

Della grew up daring. Donald grew up cautious.

Sometimes Donald felt like Scrooge believed that meant he couldn’t be brave.

* * *

Donald stared out at the ocean beyond the railing, watching the way the moonlight rippled across its surface. It wasn’t a quiet night- there was a party on deck, celebrating their latest triumphant adventure- but Donald had found the quietest place he could, shielded from the prying eyes of the crew as he watched where they once were disappear into the distance.

He had always loved the ocean. It had always been _his-_ something Della hadn’t taken an interest in, something she hadn’t touched... and even though Donald was the one on this adventure who knew what he was doing, it was still Della who was the center of attention, and Donald had been the one tossed in when things got dangerous.

His arm ached painfully and he was sure that something wasn’t _right,_ but rather than speak up he’d let his uncle and sister have their moment of victory. His arm wasn’t broken- he’d survive.

 _I should be used to it by now,_ he thought, glancing over his shoulder as his uncle’s unmistakable laughter reached the stern, rising over the music.

They hadn’t even noticed him slip away.

Donald looked back towards the water. _At least,_ he silently told himself, _I still have the sea._

* * *

“Donald, what did ye do _this_ time?!”

“I didn’t _do_ anything, Uncle Scrooge!”

The temple was collapsing. Donald looked around wildly for Della, fear beating in his chest as steadily as his heartbeat. _Where is she?!_

“Donald! Uncle Scrooge!” Della’s voice called out and Donald’s attention snapped to a balcony, about twenty feet above, whose railings had already disintegrated with a floor that was quickly following. Della skid to a stop at the edge, a golden idol clasped tightly in her hands, and she looked terrified.

Donald didn’t even acknowledge that it was Della who caused the temple to start falling apart; all he cared about was _my sister’s in danger!_

Without hesitation he ran across the cracking, crumbling ground. “Della!” he shouted to be heard over the shattering of stone. “Jump! I’ll catch you!”

Della looked down at him, hesitating for just a moment before she took the leap- she knew Donald would never let her hit the ground, after all.

He never had before.

Donald felt sharp stone hit his shoulders but still threw himself at Della, catching her in his arms. It hurt- he could feel blood matting his coat, the sharp stone having made more than a simple hit, and catching Della had caused his shoulders and arms to jerk, undoubtedly stretching or tearing something, but he had no time to think about the pain.

“Thanks, Donnie,” Della said, giving him a hug before she slipped herself to the ground. She grabbed his arm and ran towards Scrooge, who was waiting worriedly by the exit.

It hurt. Pain raced through Donald, nearly causing him to stumble, but Della had his arm and if he stumbled he’d end up taking her down with him.

 _Now isn’t the time to focus on the pain,_ he thought, forcing himself to run alongside Della and Scrooge.

The moment they were out of the temple and safely in their plane, among Scrooge's complaints of the temple collapsing before they found the treasure and his and Della’s curious observations about the idol, Donald felt his vision fade into black.*

* * *

Donald sat in the chair beside the lit fireplace, just staring into the flames. The blanket was pulled tightly around him and his shivering had ceased an hour ago, but he still didn’t move. He could feel the telltale headache that always preceded sickness, and he knew he wouldn’t be going out again for a while.

His mind played the scene over and over again- his uncle shoving him into the icy vortex.

 _I’m not a magic sheep,_ he thought bitterly to himself, curling his feet under himself. _How did he know that wouldn’t_ kill _me?! Did he even know?_

The pressure behind his eyes was hot and unpleasant. His throat hurt not just from his oncoming cold. He just didn’t understand _why._ Why did it always have to be him?

The chicken is going wild and getting bigger. _Donald, grab it while we investigate!_ Mysterious, who-knows-how-old cocoa beans fall out of an ancient dispenser? _Force-feed it to Donald, see what it does!_ Donald is tiny? _Keep him in this old pot that used to hold who-knows-what and laugh when we spill tea on him!_

Missing a magic sheep? _Let’s use Donald as its replacement._ Donald stuck in a block of ice? _Let’s not even bother to melt the ice and instead let Donald ride the entire way home in that block of ice as it steadily melts naturally._

Donald wasn’t even that mad about the cold he got, or how numb he was when they got home. The frost-bite he could deal with- though he neglected to mention any of this to Della and Scrooge. Why would they care, he wondered? They’re the ones who took so much amusement in his plight.

No, the only one who knew was himself, the paramedics and the doctor he’d paid a visit to directly after. While Della and Scrooge went off to do who-knows-what after their adventure, neither even checking to see if Donald was alright.

... Okay, he _was_ mad about that. He was livid. When he got home to the mansion he refused to speak to either of them, bypassing them and going straight to the warmth of the living room fireplace.

What he was even angrier about, though, was how they had just left him in a block of ice on-deck. It wouldn’t have been so bad, with the direct sunlight, if it hadn’t been _magic_ ice that was stubbornly avoiding melting... but they had left him there, encased in ice.

Donald had seen a lot sailing. He’d sailed through typhoons and seen the emergence of whirlpools.

He’d seen entire ships be taken out by a rogue wave, his own ship spared simply because they had been angled _just so._

The angling wouldn’t have mattered, though. If there had been a storm or a rogue wave or a whirlpool or any of the numerous things he’d seen upon the ocean, the angle of the ship wouldn’t have saved him or anyone else on deck.

 _If something like that happened they’d get me inside,_ he argued with himself, closing his eyes and leaning back.

He knew they’d at least try. It wouldn’t have been possible, though, not while he was stuck in that block of ice, and there would have been no time to get him out.

They didn’t know the ocean like he did.

They didn’t understand the real dangers they had put him in.

Deep down, he could feel his heart breaking.

_Would they even care?_

* * *

If there was one thing Donald could say with confidence, it was that he knew Scrooge liked him a lot better than he liked Gladstone.

That being said, Della got along swimmingly with Gladstone.

Donald did not.

It was like whenever Gladstone was around, Donald’s luck got a hundred times worse. Sometimes Donald suspected it was less his own bad luck and more Gladstone’s unspoken disdain for him, but he would never bring it up. He didn’t want to cause a rift and put his sister in the middle of it, but every time he saw their cousin he couldn’t help but think it.

_He hates me._

When Gladstone visited, it was the only time Donald felt like Scrooge was really on his side. They’d stand side by side, arms crossed and watching as life literally fell into Gladstone’s lap and Della, ever the wonderful, amazing person she was, didn’t try to take advantage of it at all. She loved being around him just because he was family- a good person, she’d say.

It was the only time Donald ever heard Scrooge complain about Della’s attitude- he couldn’t stand how friendly and loving she was towards someone he felt didn’t earn it. Donald kept his mouth shut- _family is family,_ he’d think, and he’d just deal with it while silently agreeing with his uncle.

Yet, there were times when Scrooge actually agreed with Gladstone. Namely, when it came to Donald’s luck- or lack thereof- and attitude. It would be a begrudging agreement, but an agreement nonetheless.

That stuck with Donald much more than he would have liked it to.

When Della disappeared, everything fell apart. Gladstone, unused to losing anyone important to him, had been hit hard- not nearly as hard as Scrooge or Donald but hard enough. He had lashed out, and in a moment of grief had admitted, _I wish it was you instead._

Scrooge hadn’t said anything.

_Scrooge always agrees with Gladstone when it’s about me._

Donald stopped talking to Scrooge- it was just too much. Years of invalidation, being ignored, taken for granted and sometimes downright mistreated had piled up, and now the only light Donald had left in his life was gone _because_ of Scrooge. How could he possibly talk to Scrooge after that? Especially if Scrooge wished _he_ was the one who had disappeared. If he would happily swap his nephew for his niece.

_(But Donald couldn’t say much; he would happily take Della’s place, if given the chance.)_

Gladstone and Donald didn’t talk for several years. Donald threw himself into raising Della’s children, losing contact with all of his old friends in the process, while Gladstone basically disappeared to who-knows-where. He had reappeared one morning on the deck of Donald’s houseboat, when the triplets were about five, and in his own way had apologized without apologizing for what he said.

 _“I didn’t mean it,”_ he had said. _“I just... I was hurting and lashing out.”_

He wanted to be a part of the triplets’ lives. Donald didn’t want him to be, but... how could he deny his _(Della’s)_ boys the right to know their uncle?

 _I didn’t mean it,_ Gladstone had said. Donald didn’t believe him.

But Della had been important to Gladstone, and Della’s children were too. That was what was important to Donald. He could deal with the blame and the hate and the bad luck and the good luck, just so long as Huey, Dewey and Louie had more people in their life who cared about them.

He could deal with it.

That was what he was used to, after all.

* * *

The flight from Macaw to the temple of the golden cricket was a silent affair. Donald stared pointedly out the window, barely conscious of the green-clad child next to him so focused he was on his thoughts.

It had been a moment of shock, when Scrooge basically sold him to the luck demon in exchange for Gladstone-

 _He was just tricking the demon,_ he reminded himself but it had still hurt. How could it not? It had been ten years since Donald was last thrown into danger like that, at least by Scrooge himself. He wasn’t used to it anymore.

He had thought things were different now. Now, with the triplets back in Scrooge’s life and Donald and Scrooge’s relationship rocky, at best. He hadn’t expected Scrooge to be so bold, to use him as cannon fodder again.

 _I should have known better,_ Donald told himself, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against the window. The shock had worn off long ago but it left him drained and resigned. _Some things never change, after all._

Even if it had been a trick, even if Scrooge had been confident the demon wouldn’t keep Donald... Donald didn’t like Scrooge gambling with his life.

He had thought that ended ten years ago.

He had thought that went away with Della.

Now he knew it didn’t. Now he knew he would never be anything more than a disposable pawn, a gambling piece to both Scrooge and Gladstone.

_At least I still have the boys._

* * *

He stared up at the altar, to the beam of light and the spear that seemed to glare out at those looking towards it.

They had found her.

“Mom,” he heard Dewey whisper as they stared at the duck. Her form was hardly recognizable, completely overtaken by the shining light engulfing her.

Donald wanted to run to her. To reach out, to grab her and pull her to him, but he knew he couldn’t.

The ancient writing on the wall was clear. The only way for her to be released from the grasp of Selene was if someone willingly took her place, with no chance of being saved themself.

“At least we know now what happened,” he heard Gladstone say to Dewey, and he could picture his cousin setting a comforting hand on Dewey’s shoulder.

“Come along,” Scrooge said, his voice uncharacteristically soft, somber. “We should go now.”

Donald turned and watched as Scrooge and Gladstone shuffled the children towards the doorway to the room. He started to follow before pausing, his hands balling into fists.

The children were crying. Gladstone and Scrooge were silent.

_“I wish it was you instead.”_

Donald had spent so many years wishing that same thing. His heart broke all over again and his vision blurred. They all wanted her, not him.  _He_ wanted her, not himself.

He wanted his sister back.

He couldn’t have her back.

 _But,_ he thought, slowly turning to look back at the altar. _But the kids can have their mom back. Scrooge can have his niece back. Gladstone can have his best friend back._

As quietly as he could, he closed the doors to the altar room. Doors securely shut and latched to one another, he turned and walked towards the altar.

The tears burned as they made their way down his cheeks- not tears for what he was about to do, but for what was to come.

He could see it now- Della catching up with them all. Laughing. Going on adventures. Telling the boys and Webby everything- about every adventure, everything they had all done. Everything Donald couldn’t bring himself to say.

She could tell them how much she loved them. _Show_ them how much she loved them. She would be the mother she deserved to be. The mother they deserved to have.

And he would be just another memory.

He walked up the stairs towards the light, towards the scepter so clear inside, towards his only sister. He wiped his eyes.

Donald wasn’t afraid.

**oOoOo**

Gladstone was the one who noticed Donald’s absence. He had glanced back, just to see if Donald was okay- it was his twin sister, after all- to find the space behind him empty, and all the way down the hallway nothing stirred.

He stopped dead in his tracks. “Donald?” he called nervously, his voice echoing down the empty hallway and causing the family to pause, confused.

“What?” Scrooge sounded confused as he turned around. Gladstone, eyes still behind him, couldn’t see his face, but when Scrooge spoke again he was clearly alarmed. “Donald! Where did he go?!”

_“I wish it had been you instead.”_

His words from so long ago flashed into Gladstone’s head and he felt his blood turn to ice.

Realization quickly sunk in. Donald had never used that against him, not the way Gladstone had expected him to.

_Donald agreed._

“No,” he whispered, eyes widening. “No!” He broke out into a run, back towards the altar room, back to where they had just come from.

The children and Scrooge quickly followed.

 _Please, luck, don’t fail me now,_ Gladstone silently begged as he turned the corner, but instead of the open doorway he had been expecting the doors were back in place, clearly latched now.

It had been so hard to get open the first time.

His heart dropped but he ran towards it, slamming against it and pushing the heavy door with all his might, pressing down on the handle to try and get it to unlatch. He was soon joined by Scrooge, and slowly the ancient door released its hold on its partner and flew open with a crash, throwing both ducks onto the floor.

They looked up to see Donald already at the top of the altar, his back to them. Gladstone felt numb.

Having Della back wasn't worth losing Donald. The cycle would only repeat with fresher wounds. Gladstone wanted to scream, to tell him to  _stop,_ but he couldn't get the words past the painful lump in his throat.

“Donald!” Scrooge shouted, sounding almost angry as he leapt to his feet and raced towards the stairs. Gladstone scrambled up as well, watching with wide eyes as his uncle took the steps two at a time. “Get back here!”

“Uncle Donald!” Louie called out, voice wavering. “Stop!"

"Uncle Donald!" the children all chorused, their pleas getting mixed up with each others'.

"Please!"

Donald, however, didn’t seem to pay them any mind as he stepped into the light.

Scrooge reached out, fingers brushing against the back of Donald's shirt collar.

They closed around air as Donald’s hands wrapped around Della’s.

**oOoOo**

It was a strange sensation, Donald thought. He didn’t feel like he was on Earth anymore, as if he was caught in another dimension. His hands were clasped around hands smaller, colder than his own, and he watched as Della slowly opened her eyes.

In this place, full of moving light, her eyes shined so blue. He felt tears build up in his own again, seeming to slip out not onto his cheeks but into the air around them.

 _Oh how I missed you,_ he thought, and for some reason his thoughts echoing around him didn’t surprise him at all. It seemed... fitting. It seemed natural.

 _Donald?_ Della asked, her thought soft and confused. _Why are you here?_

He smiled weakly, as well as he could, and he pulled her closer- not letting go of her hands, but into a pseudo-hug of a sort.

 _You know,_ he thought to her. _I missed you. Uncle Scrooge and Cousin Gladstone miss you, and... and your sons want to meet you._ He looked at her again, at the fear and surprise in her eyes as she realized what he was doing.

 _You can’t,_ her mind whispered as she shook her head. _You can’t._

Now Donald pulled her into a real hug- a tight hug as a sob shook his shoulders, but didn’t make a sound. She hugged him just as tightly.

For those few seconds, Donald felt grateful. Even for just a few moments he had her there again- got to speak to her, see her, hug her...

 _I love you, Della,_ he told her. _I love you so much. Please don’t forget that._

 _Donald-_ she started to protest, but then she realized they had switched places during the hug and now Donald was in the center and Della was near the edge. Her eyes widened. _Donald-!_

And then Donald pushed her, sending her out of the light, and as she fell backwards into the nothingness beyond Donald felt his eyes slide shut.

**oOoOo**

Scrooge stared into the light for what felt like years, but what could have only been mere seconds. He stared, eyes wide and hand still out, yet somewhat retracted, as he realized Donald was gone.

He was too late.

 _If those damned doors hadn’t been in the way-_ he thought, letting himself fall to his knees.

He hadn’t wanted this.

He could hear one of the children crying.

Gladstone repeatedly whispered, _“No, no, please god no...”_

They wanted Della back- but they hadn’t wanted to lose anyone-  _especially Donald-_  in the process.

It felt like losing them all over again. Scrooge could feel it- the hurt in his chest, multiplying with every heartbeat, the headache building as undignified tears burned his eyes... it felt like he was dying.

He had never wanted to feel that way again.

 _What were ye thinking?!_ he wanted to scream at the light- maybe Donald would hear him. Could he hear from inside, he wondered, if they screamed loud enough?

But then someone fell out of the light onto the ground next to Scrooge, and she immediately sat up, screaming Donald’s name. She reached for the light.

Her hands hit what seemed like a solid wall, and she beat her fists furiously against it, the sound echoing loudly around the room.

 _With no chance of being saved,_ he remembered the text saying. Della was back, but now they had lost Donald for good.

The children cried.

Gladstone whispered.

Della screamed.

And all Scrooge could do was sit in silent tears, staring at the light holding his nephew from them.

Everything he’d never said, never done, echoed in Scrooge’s mind.

 _What were ye thinking?_ his mind repeated brokenly, though deep down he knew the answer.

He knew.

_What could ye possibly have been thinking?_

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really believe Scrooge favours Della, but I do think Donald will think he does with how Scrooge treats her in comparison to him. And Gladstone doesn't hate Donald, again, Donald just thinks he does. What Gladstone said was during an extremely emotionally painful moment and was said in anger and grief; he didn't really mean it (if he had, it probably would have happened after all) but Donald thought he did. That doesn't excuse what he said, of course, but still.
> 
> As much as they all want Della back, I can't imagine any of them being okay with Donald sacrificing himself to do it. They had already lived 10 years without Della, after all, and Donald was the one who raised the triplets.
> 
> If you want a happy ending, tell me how you think they save Donald
> 
> *Unknown to Donald, the moment he collapsed the idol and what happened was left completely forgotten. Not mentioning your injuries is one thing but when you completely black out, they're gonna notice...


End file.
